


the reckless route your craft is running

by girljustdied



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-17
Updated: 2011-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-03 21:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17291369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girljustdied/pseuds/girljustdied
Summary: her past.  his future.  fuck the present.





	the reckless route your craft is running

**Author's Note:**

> pre 2x07.  
> prompt was "do you remember the way you touched me before all the trembling sweetness i loved and adored."

They don’t talk about a lot of things: “clubbing,” the way he wears his hair, what it felt like to hold his dying body in her arms, whatever the fuck a cylon is—but, maybe most especially, they avoid stuff like how to get around her power until they won’t have to anymore like the plague.

It’s a strange state to be in, for sure. In love with someone she sometimes can barely even recognize. In love with someone she can’t touch. Now. Again. Makes the whole relationship marital, almost. He listens to her complain about wankers she and Curtis have to serve at the bar. Lets her pick out what tie to wear when he takes her out to a posh restaurant. And she’s seen an absolutely numbing amount of movies from his DVD collection. Even liked a few of them. Worse, she’d admitted it when she did, if only to watch his mouth tug up and remember what it felt like with her future boy, all quiet and sexy and smirking at her telling him to stop worrying about his little clocks and focus on how loud he could make her cry out using only one hand.

They’d hugged, once. Her and this Simon—the only one she has left. She’d finally just told him to hold still, carefully slung her arms around his neck, pressed her face to his chest. Felt right, except his hands were shaking as they slid around her waist. But his breath was slow and measured, she remembers. And his voice strangely steady:

“Alisha?” he’d asked. “Are you all right?”

No. Certainly not. She wanted to be held—never a good sign, if she was gonna be honest.

“Put your hands lower,” she’d instructed instead. Trembled in his arms like a teenager when he unlocked his hands and slid his palms down to the small of her back without much hesitation at all. Gave her breath little wavers in her exhales. She was scared, suddenly. Fuck if she knew why. Wanted to beg him to drag his hands even further down to cup her ass, maybe crush him back into the wall. Wanted to tell him how much she’d missed him. “Simon?”

“Yes?”

“You can let go now,” her voice a bit mean.

Like he was the one with the problem.

He’d asked her if he’d done something wrong after. She couldn’t even begin to seriously answer that question, but mouthed off a bit about hormones and shit until he’d nodded like he understood a word she was saying.

It’s not to say that they never touch. Especially after that. They’d managed to almost perfect sleeping in the same bed, even. Her under the covers, him on top and covered from neck to ankle in clothing like usual. He usually was still awake when she drifted off, and woke her up in the mornings bringing back breakfast. Maybe he often held her while she slept and she just didn’t remember. All she knows is that after a nightmare—something about butterflies and then future boy tickling her until tears streamed from her eyes and she’d had to turn them over to pin down his arms with her knees—and fuck, his face then—she wakes up to Simon spooning her body.

His arm is slung around her over the sheets, palm curving against the underside of her right tit. No wonder her dream had gotten sort of sexy.

“Simon?” she whispers.

He murmurs something unintelligible into the sheet separating his face from the nape of her neck, arm tightening around her and thumb moving in a soft, slow circle against her breast.

It’s been ages since she’s gotten off. She’s half asleep. That’s what she blames for almost immediately giving into her first impulse. Dips the fingertips of her free hand under the waistband of her knickers, can feel her cunt hot and damp and so ready with want. Teases her folds, dips two fingers inside of herself to draw out some more wetness before attacking her clit with sure, practiced fingers.

Thinks of his eyes on her. Thinks about Curtis’ ass, fleetingly, before focusing on how someday Simon’ll be able to bury his head between her thighs and make her beg. Like before.

They really need to talk about sex. Oh, god.

“Alisha?” Simon’s voice suddenly, startlingly, one hundred percent awake.

She stills, heart racing, body practically screaming at her to keep on. Maybe he didn’t—

“You—” his hand sliding down her stomach just slightly. “You were—?”

“Lower.” She can barely voice. He obeys, hand slowly dragging to rest lightly between her thighs over the sheet. She spreads her legs further, too needy. “Please—please touch me. I want you. I want—fuck, I miss your hands on me.”

He groans, fingertips twitching before pressing down until she can feel his hand tentatively moving against her through the soft, cool, satiny sheet.

“Alisha,” he breathes shakily into her hair. “I don’t know how—”

She wants to tell him that he knows every single way to make her come apart—all he has to do is _remember_. Fuck, she’s mixed up again. Clamps her mouth shut and grinds her ass back against the erection that had begun to poke into her lower back. Twists her hand up underneath the sheet until she can press it down over his to make his hand move faster against her, firmer, the fabric and their fingers entwining.

“Simon,” she pants, rocks up against their hands. “Please—”

“What do you want?” his voice choked as he thrusts up against her ass, mouth open and wetting the sheet near her shoulder blade. “I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“I want you to fuck me—“ he lets out an unintelligible groan at her words, the too familiar lines of his body plastering even more fully against hers. “I want you to fuck me. I want your cock. I want it to be like before—”

His hand on her slows, just slightly. “Don’t—“

“Just this once,” her voice a high-pitched whine she barely even recognizes as her own.

“Alisha—“

She cranes her head to the side, body twisting with it. Kisses him messily, just barely, and then he’s jerking forward to kiss her again—dark blue veins spreading out from his mouth, from where she reaches out to clutch at his jaw.

Just don’t say anything, she silently begs over and over. Don’t say a bleeding word.

They get tangled up in the sheets—her trying to get out, him scrambling to get under. End up with the fabric twisted around just their calves and leave it at that, him on top, shoving the shirt he’d given her to sleep in up under her armpits and mouthing a tit, the pad of his tongue rough against her nipple and his right hand palming her other breast.

She’s shaking with need. Couldn’t stop it if she tried. Pushes down the sweatpants he’s wearing until his cock springs free and grasps it in a light fist, pumps her hand around him until his mouth detaches from her with a wet moan. He frantically digs his palms into the insides of her thighs to spread her legs wider, fingertips curling in so that she feels a hint of nail.

Starts to say something, so she digs the index and middle finger of her left hand into his mouth. Watches him start to suck at them with a shudder traveling up her spine. Lets go of his cock to yank the fabric of her knickers to the side, drags her cunt up the line of his shaft until he grabs hold of himself and trusts inside of her, his teeth digging into her knuckles.

She circles her legs around his back, locks her feet together and moves to meet his frantic, rough thrusts. His teeth start to almost break the skin of her fingers, so she finally drags them out and tries to occupy his mouth with hers instead. Mostly, it works, except for a few scattered curses and something about wanting to shave her legs—

That’s all right. She can’t help blurting out shit she wishes she wouldn’t, either. That she loves him, she needs him back, she’s so unbearably lost—

It’s over quickly. Simon breathes that he loves her—disorients Alisha, sounds so much like future boy the last time they’d shagged—comes inside of her with a harsh grunt before she can even manage to get herself off. It’d been the whole fucking point, but now he’s rolling off her and she stands and heads straight for the toilet.

Sits next to the bed after she’s cleaned herself up and had a good, long look at herself in the mirror.

“Do you even like me at all?”

His voice startles her—she honestly thought he’d fallen asleep.

“I did,” then lets out the rest instead of holding it in because it’s all true. She hopes, “I do. I will. I promise.”

“We had sex?” he seems like he knows, but needs to be sure. “Or did I dream it?”

She could lie. Maybe she should. Nods without thinking instead.

He nods back at her before turning to lay on his side, back facing her, breath ragged in his chest. She watches his shoulders rise and fall for a long time.

“Simon—” they both start talking at the same moment—

“I don’t think I love you yet, either.”  
  
That hurts, but she understands the impulse. “It’s okay if you do.”

He sighs. “I told you?”

“I’m sorry,” she says. Actually means it for the first time in ages. “I shouldn’t have forced myself on you like that. My power—I know you didn’t want me to—”

“I did,” he interrupts, turns to lie on his back again and looks over at her. Laughs just barely. Echoes, “I do. I will.”

“You’re a little fucked in the head, Simon.”

“It’s a part of who you are.”

It unnerves her. She knows that he means to be comforting—and in a weird way, deep down, it is—but still. Fuck’s sake. He shouldn’t still want her. Especially not because of all the things she is instead of in spite of them. She’s trying to be a better person. Moves up to a kneeling position with wobbly, sore legs and drapes the covers over his body before lying down on her back on top of them.

“It’s cold on top,” she halfway jokes to try and ease the tension.

He scoots his body sideways until it touches hers. So she turns onto her side and slings a leg across his, melds herself to the curves and bends of him. His body is warmer than she remembers, makes her feel tired and hazy.

“We should talk about it,” he says carefully. “Sex.”

She kisses his shoulder through the sheet. “Tomorrow.”

 


End file.
